


if all that we are is two matching scars

by bobbismrses



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Divorce, Sexual References, Swearing, because apparently i don’t know how to write anything else, tagging this just in case it bothers anyone, very light angst tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:32:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbismrses/pseuds/bobbismrses
Summary: Bobbi sighs and leans back into her seat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she eyes Lance’s room through the windshield of her car. The curtains are pulled, but the lights are on, and her heart does something in her chest.Of all places, of course he would choose America’s shittiest motel to hole himself into.





	if all that we are is two matching scars

**Author's Note:**

> i might write a second chapter if you guys want me to (like, the morning after) 👉🏼😎👉🏼

It’s not that Bobbi’s scared.

 

It’s really more that she’s _fucking_ nervous.

 

She sighs and leans back into her seat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she eyes Lance’s room through the windshield of her car. The curtains are pulled, but the lights are on, and Bobbi’s heart does something in her chest.

 

Of all places, of course he would choose America’s shittiest motel to hole himself into.

 

She finally gets out of the car and jogs up the few stairs to the first floor, pausing when she reaches his door. There’s a mat that says _Welcome Home_ and she doesn’t know if she wants to cry or laugh.

 

She swallows, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been in a staring competition with a door before.

 

She ignores the tightness in her stomach as she knocks her knuckles against the door and she’s surprised by how _fast_ he opens up. He doesn’t see her. At least, not at first. He pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and looks up as he hands her a few bills. He immediately straightens up and Bobbi sucks in a sharp breath.

 

“You’re not the pizza guy.”

 

She breathes out a laugh. “Apparently not.”

 

He looks alright, or as alright as he can be nowadays. A bit rough around the edges, and tired, but still rocking that same white tank top he’s had for as long as Bobbi can remember. Half of his face is covered by a thick beard and, for some reasons, his voice still sounds like home.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Bobbi clears her throat and shuffles from one foot to the other. “Izzy, she—”

 

“What are you doing here for real?”

 

She presses her lips into a thin line and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket, shrugging as she looks away. “Guess I just wanted to see you.”

 

Lance squints his eyes as he tries to read her and Bobbi shifts uncomfortably. He’s always been so annoyingly good at it. He suddenly opens the door wider, just enough for her to get in, and the tightness in her stomach loosens.

 

Inside, it’s cozier than she expected. There’s a six pack on the table and a Magic-Fingers bed, and Lance snorts when he sees the look on Bobbi’s face.

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

“You first,” she fires back and Lance chuckles.

 

She doesn’t know if he’s talking about the bed or the beers, but it doesn’t matter. He’s laughing, and she’s laughing, too, and it feels right.

 

A silence falls over the room and Lance scratches the back of his neck as he looks at Bobbi.

 

“You look good.”

 

Bobbi dips her head and smiles softly. “You too. I like the beard. Very hipster-y of you.”

 

Lance bursts out laughing, all teeth and dimples, as he shakes his head, and that’s fucking music to Bobbi’s ears. That’s not a sound she, or anyone, hears that often anymore, and she hates that it’s one of the many things she had to say goodbye to when she signed those divorce papers.

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I deserve that one.”

 

Bobbi’s smile falters and she sighs as she looks at him. “What are you doing here, Hunter?”

 

Lance shrugs nonchalantly as he walks over the table. He pulls a beer out of the six-pack, twists the cap off, and takes a first swig. “Taking a break.”

 

“You’re isolating yourself,” Bobbi corrects.

 

“Tomato tomato,” he replies, lifting his shoulders again, as he picks at the label on his beer bottle. “I just need to figure some things out.”

 

“What things?”

 

” _Things_ ,” he repeats, and Bobbi gives him a look.

 

“You mean thing here?”

 

She taps her finger against the side of his head and Lance closes his eyes as he curls his fingers around her wrist and brings her hand back down.

 

“Izzy says I’m out of control.”

 

Bobbi sighs sadly. “Well, are you?”

 

Lance looks up at her and swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I don’t know. Yeah, maybe. When has Izzy ever been wrong?”

 

“Oh, she has,” Bobbi affirms, laughing. “You just have to know better than to point it out.”

 

“Yeah, Moscow was a fucking disaster.”

 

Bobbi looks at him and her smile turns into something sad. “You don’t have to do this alone, Hunter. Holing yourself up in here and shutting people out is like... Putting paper over the cracks. It’s a temporary fix. There are people out there who care about you and who want to know you’re not just living off pizza and cheap beers every night.”

 

Lance snorts softly into his beer. “Yeah? Like who?”

 

Bobbi tries not to look offended.

 

She really fucking does.

 

“Do you have any idea how much money I spent on gas to get here? Any at all?”

 

Lance narrows his eyes at her and places his beer on the table, like she just offered him to play the most exalting guessing game in existence.

 

“Remember that time in San Diego, when we had to drive all the way back to—”

 

“ _Way_ more.”

 

Lance’s mouth turns down in an impressed scowl and he throws his hands up. “Fair enough.”

 

Bobbi tentatively places her hand on his chest, right over his heart, and tilts her head to the side as she looks at him. “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

 

“I’m not alone, now.”

 

Lance covers her hand with his, his thumb stroking her knuckles, and the flush on Bobbi’s cheeks spreads all the way down to her collarbones.

 

“ _Hunter._ ”

 

“If you wanna stop me, now is the time, love,” Lance says, closing the ridiculously short distance between them. “You can call me an asshole, tell me to get my shit together, and we call it a night.”

 

Bobbi shakes her head numbly and Lance’s mouth twitches at the corners. He crashes his lips against hers and gently pushes her jacket off her shoulders as they stumble toward the bed. He tastes like beer, caffeine, and something minty, and it’s surprisingly not the worst thing in the world.

 

She collapses onto the mattress and laughs as Lance pulls a quarter out of his pocket and pops it into the Magic-Fingers box. The bed buzzes to life and Bobbi fists the covers as it begins to shake.

 

“Do people actually fall asleep like that?”

 

Lance grins. “Not sure that’s what they use it for.”

 

Bobbi wrinkles her nose at him and pushes herself up on her elbows, hooking her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans and pulling him down on top of her. Lance combs his fingers through her hair and mouths at her jawline, chuckling at the feeling of the vibrations under his elbows.

 

“Shit was funnier in my head.”

 

“Wait until I’m on top,” Bobbi retorts smugly and Lance tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“Is this why you came here for?” he asks, no accusing tone in his voice, and it’s the genuineness of the question that makes her angry.

 

Bobbi’s face falls and she pushes him off of her, immediately getting up and barking a harsh laugh as she picks her jacket up off the floor. Lance curses softly and scrubs a hand down his face.

 

“Bob, wait. _Bob!_ ”

 

A knock at the door startles them and Lance wants to punch a hole through the wall.

 

“You’re not gonna get that?” Bobbi asks tightly as she zips her jacket all the way up and Lance is actually considering _not_ getting that. “For Christ’s sake, Hunter, just answer the damn door already!”

 

Lance curses again and ruffles a hand through his hair furiously. He finally opens the door, pays the poor bastard, and closes the door, all in less than fifteen seconds. He tosses the pizza on the table and places his hands on his hips, sighing.

 

“It’s not too late to call me an asshole.”

 

“Fine,” Bobbi says, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. “Asshole.”

 

“ _Good_. Again.”

 

Bobbi scoffs softly. “You’re not supposed to like it, you know? It takes away all the fun.”

 

The corner of his mouth curls up briefly and he breathes out deeply. “Stay, okay? Just... Take off that damn jacket and stay. For pizza if not for me.”

 

Bobbi pinches her lips and shakes her head, smiling in spite of herself. “Let me guess. Hawaiian?”

 

Lance huffs. “What else?”

 

He plops down on one of the chairs and grabs Bobbi’s hand, tugging gently until she gets the idea. She rolls her eyes, a reluctant smile stretching across her face as she takes a sit in his lap and Lance wraps his arm around her stomach.

 

Looks like the fucking _doormat_ was right.


End file.
